Malachi White sat on the fence, looking at them from under the brim of his old straw hat, until they came to the path that he had indicated and disappeared in the woods.

Then he sighed and walked back slowly to his house in the cornfield.

Malachi White had no education, but he had much judgment and he was a philosopher.
But Dick and the others rode on through the forest, penetrating into the high and rough hills which were sparsely inhabited.

The nights, as it was now October, were cool, despite the heat and dust of the day, and they rode in a grateful silence.

It was more than an hour after dark when Powell, one of the Frankforters, spoke: "We can hit the old town by midnight easy enough," he said.